Ow! Why is it Still Hurting?!?! 😅
We had been planning to cut me for the last couple years. Picked out a knife, talked here and there. Events did not align. Life took precedence.
Then a party appeared. Allowing cutting, and when Z and I could both make it. Excitement, nerves, and negotiation ramped up. Pre, during, and aftercare discussed. Knife sharpened. Boundaries and body locations. Back-up plans. This was really happening.
I asked another of his partners for a pain scale. Less than mean needles. I can do that.
It won’t be a lot of blood. Maybe more if he tenderizes first. So long as I don’t have to look at it much.
The day arrives. Excited nervous. A long drive and dinner and fingers through his hair to calm me. Hold the knife a bit, small and sharp. Ready to hit the party.
First scene, find a spot, put down protection while DMs are informed. Remember to breathe.
Gloved hands first. Touch and tease and tenderize. Stroke, squeeze, punch. Bring my head into my body, into my thigh.
Prep the area. Light drags of the blade, to send me spinning, to settle me in. His free arm available, but already making contact. My hands on my stomach. Forcing my free leg down to relax. Deep breaths, but my fingers and toes are tingling.
Z shows me the light scratches. Ready? No? A bit more touch and tease, until I say yes.
The knife drags deeper, sharper, slowly dragging breath and sound. Another, and another, and another. The sensations increasing. Gasping in and soft whimpers and whines out. But it feels good. Still grinning and giggling. Trying to keep my arms down, to keep my shoulders down.
The knife digs sharper, longer lines, my sounds get higher. I reach for him, fingers dancing along his arm, or gripping. Brushing his hair back so I can see his face, see the grin.
He bends my leg up, fire shoots through my thigh. Everything stings. Now for the mean ones. Offers his arm for me to ground out some of the floaty.
Lines crossing lines. Squeals turning into orgasms of pain. Over and over, until I sink into the sharpness. Tiny cuts are harder to process, barely a squeak and the knife is gone. A few more long crossing lines.
Z covers the thigh with a pad. Then punches and I shriek. I swear and growl and arch as he presses and squeezes and punches. He wants one more and works my thigh until he gets it. I can feel my muscles separate beneath his fists as I swear and orgasm again. Growling softly up at him.
Not much blood. How is the density? Should we move on? You wanted the whole leg, didn’t you? Immediate masochistic regret, but I want to know what it feels like.
Feeling the skin of the calf, rolling the muscles in his hands. Prep the new area. Z moves out of my reach. I try to still my legs, my free one had been going up and down the whole scene. Stay still, hands on my belly.
Light passes of the knife. Barely felt. Then a sharp point, parting skin, taking breath with it. Sharp squeaks and ragged breath. Another and another. But it’s trickier than the thigh, so a few short cuts and another long, and I am shaking again.
Z settles beside me. An excellent scene. And time to clean up and cuddle. My thigh is a wreck, I can’t see my calf, everything stings, not much blood at all. Floaty and happy. Clean up and then cuddles. Such excellent fun we have together.
